Shattered
by elisedaae
Summary: From Christine's POV. After the shattering chandelier and a brief escape from the confines of the opera, words better left unsaid bring Christine far apart from the man she once knew, and guilt overcomes her as she struggles with the way she views her fallen teacher. Will another such escape bring answers to the endless why that consumes her?


I am haunted.

I fall asleep at night after restless tossing and turning, never knowing when it is or how close until the daylight seeps in and one more day begins. It must be nostalgia, threatening to come forth and drown me in the shattered truths I so believed in.

An angel used to come to me in sleep. I would remain in my room, awaiting _his_ call, and my face would come alive with joy each and every time. I anticipated him. I trusted him. I wished desperately to please him. I was hopelessly naive.

My eyes drift to the mirror occasionally, which I shrouded the day before, after that nightmarish performance and the murder that came at the hands of one that I knew more than any other. I could not bear that truth— _me_ , Christine. I am simple and small, unimportant in the scheme of things; yet I know intimately that which haunts the entire world of the opera. I alone am aware of what really occurred. There are no more facades, no more carefully concocted lies or whispers, no voices in my head that make me doubt reality. I am the only one that knows him. It frightens me.

I can still see that dreadful face. The horror I felt. A sickening ache within my core, as my insides revolted against my eyes when I took in the sight of him. The phantom, the masked man no longer, as I tore off his final deception and began to realize exactly what he was. A man, never an angel. He was capable of such anger that I had not seen the searing image of his face, unable to parallel the fear that he would hurt me deeply with his rage. He had, in an entirely different way.

He shattered more than just a chandelier that day. He broke the trust and faith I had still managed to hold within my teacher—a hope that regardless of the wall he erected from the moment I tore off his mask, that I could somehow find a redeeming quality in him. I only deceived myself. He killed without a single thought for the effect it would have. Like a cornered animal, he released his vengeance for all to see and behold, to create more paranoia within those he wished to dominate.

The worst thing of all was that I knew that was what everyone had seen...and yet I saw something more, still. I could not believe in Erik, but my soul disobeys my mind regardless of the truth. Yet another delusion I retain. A bitterness covered the awful memory, as I lay there in bed and watched as the light began to change within the darkened sky, bringing a dawn that wouldn't end the nightmare.

The phantom was cruel, evil, vengeful and controlling...and he was still as much a person as I. We shared the same soul, it seemed. I knew in his eyes that hopefulness I saw when he reached toward me, as we both lay across the ground forever scarred in different ways. It was as a reflection, looking into the face of death and knowing that he was so alike to me. Nothing was more frightening than his vulnerability and the lingering emotion that I knew he was capable. The pain he felt was one in the same with my own mournful life...and I longed to reach out for him, yet I was too afraid. I cost us both our choices that day. Selfish Christine. Worthless, useless. I torment myself with the truth this morning, begging to think of anything else or cease to exist at all, if it means I don't have to go on with life after all the terror.

I roll over in bed since it is pointless to try to sleep this night. The sky outside the opera is dark, but I see the whiteness outside through icy windows. Snow falls down like a flood upon the ground below, blocking the sight of eyes from the blurry shapes below. I cannot leave this gilded cage. I cannot go back home and torment myself alone, away from the vacant hope that I will hear the Angel of Music; that I will awake from this hell.

I pulled the dressing robe over my shift, feeling the coldness seep through my bones at the winter chill. I am unwilling to leave my room for the warmth of another. I wish to see no one. Not even Raoul. I do not wish to sing, for I can only hear Erik's voice, and feel the ache inside multiply to suffering. A sigh and the air almost seems to give off the tendrils of cold breath. Death has overcome the dimness of the room. All is gloom, and rightfully so. I dare to bring a shaking hand to the mirror, and yet I am afraid that a stark whiteness will meet me through the glass and I will be forever gone.

How can I justify the longing? It is inexplicable, yet it is mourning for one I know keenly and wished for so much more than we both received. Faded hopes, destroyed by his hands, when I was too weak to change anything. My actions condemn us. His hand brings the blow, I orchestrate it. The burden weighed so heavily on my shoulders, I wished for nothing but to sink to the ground and cry. I had tried, I had wept the previous night until tears ran dry. A fateful decision thrust upon me with no explanation.

I had an unwavering wish to simply ask Erik _why_. _Oh, God, why_.

I had escaped to the chapel the night before as I drowned in tears, and yet even the merciful hand of God seemed so far away, farther away than ever. I knew he looked down with plans still in store. A halfhearted belief. I was without one bit of knowledge, no idea of where to go. I could not sing now that my angel was irrevocably dead. Every note a betrayal, rejection for all he taught me. Any greatness I possess comes from his own divine influence, alone. Nothing memorable about me is mine. I felt the insufferable need to repay him; I owed him everything and how miserable I was! A debtor that will never vindicate myself. It is too late, now.

When Buquet's wretched corpse fell from the lofts above, I had nearly fainted away. A shock I could not describe, a pain so deep, knowledge I had to keep from everyone and yet how weak I was to _not_ reveal it to them! A secret I must live with, for I protect a murderer and I cannot waver! Even more pressing, the undeniable fact that I do not wish to expose him. I should _hate_ him! Everyone else does, they condemned him without a thought! Evidence throughout his life of hatred everywhere, and I alone cannot hate him as they do. He loves me, I am loved by a killer, and I cannot hurt him. I cannot.

He had eyes everywhere, and the fear only grew as I realized that it was all my fault! If I had just stepped up and took the role of the Countess, if I had gone along with his wishes, if I had warned them—I did nothing. I stood by once again, once more allowing others to dictate my fate, and I did not move a hand to stop it all! I felt so disgusting, I wished for the guilt to leave...two sides pulling me in different directions, twisting my arms when I am powerless. And how sick I am of being powerless.

Raoul assured me when we stood there on the rooftop that none of it was my fault. He painted me the victim, a story any would believe! Yet I knew the truth! I was wicked, thoroughly, marred and distorted inside. I could not do the right thing. And once more, I allow a kind voice, a familiar and beloved one, to direct my movements. I had every right, he said, to escape. I was given everything any would ever ask for, as he offered me a chance of freedom. Yet this freedom is a delusion as much as any I could ever believe.

I was irrational and in hysterics, I believed that Erik would follow us everywhere until we were dead! I had seen that look in dear Raoul's eyes, as I told him my innermost feelings toward my fallen teacher...Raoul could not judge me, he is too good. Too perfect. He wishes to whisk me away from it all, never to know Erik ever again.

 _Why_ can I not go? Why can't I just surrender to the easy path, and never look back?

Perhaps because I am guilty. My soul is flawed, and I wish so selfishly to fix all that I destroyed. If I had not betrayed Erik...if I had not ever asked to see him truly at all...if I had just—

My actions brought the outcome, creating the events which I was now trapped in.

Always trapped.

The room itself is a prison, a memory of a former, simple time. An enchanting illusion, now a haunting memory I wish to return to. Ignorance was safe. I longed for it, craved it like a drug, even more intoxicated on its promise than ever before.

The walls of the room were suffocating me as my breaths turned to desperation, begging to cry. Sobs never came. I tightened the ties about my robe and snuck from the room to the hall, ever aware of the mirror—portal to the underworld, but he was likely watching regardless. I would _never_ escape.

I felt the glowing eyes always on me as I rushed down the darkened halls, an imagination running wild as my fear intensified. I ran all the way, never stopping until I reached the roof and the cold wounds of the winter air, hoping to numb myself from inward pain. The sharpness of the wind nipped upon my face like knives. Cold, endless cold. I should have grabbed a cloak, but thoughts overcame me so badly I could not think. Madness was near, I was certain.

I looked down upon the silhouettes of the buildings below, noticing the orange rays of the sunrise glistening on the horizon against the darkness of the snow clouds. Last night, Raoul had held me in his arms and begged me to go away with him and leave things behind. Safety, marriage, security. Everything I wanted, except music. He was to stop by later that day. The cold brought clarity to my thoughts, I began to remember things. He would ask me again to go away, and I would accept. I would accept. I would accept.

I turned around the doorway that jutted from the crevices of the opera entry, and walked toward the other side of the roof, stopping before the grand golden statue of Apollo and his Lyre. It shone in the light, and had an otherworldly quality of power that I found inspiring. If only I could be like that, and stop the misery I brought to everyone around me. I walked on, until I froze.

There stood a dark figure, hands behinds its back folded tightly, staring out toward the same world I was witnessing just before. I knew instantly who I beheld, and felt the chill work up my spine that exuded deeper than the freezing cold. My mind struggled for escape, yet the hypnotic power of merely glancing this ghost always left me unable to speak or move without direction. My mind begged my feet to move across the ice and back inside, to lock my room and pray for release. But that same figure captured me with just a glance in his direction. I was unsure if he even knew I was there, yet I could not look away no matter how much I wished to.

"I advise you not take another step closer, _Miss Daae._ You will not like what you see."

That cold, sharp voice, so deeply intoned in a bitterness that clashed with grief; it was a powerful note, a requiem I could not ignore. I should listen to his words, run away from him and be grateful for his coldness. Yet I remained resolute, weak. Powerless. Curious, but where has curiosity gotten me? Torment, for myself and others.

Why was I pained by his words, the way he spat my name as if it was loathsome to hear? It hurt, and it should not. Had I not rejected him in every way possible? Was it not all a lost cause? Were we both not so far within our own paths that nothing could be stopped?

He did not turn around. I did not move. We remained like that as the wind howled and the smallest flakes of snow fell from the sky, the sun ever closer to rising above the streets below. I tore my eyes from him, upon the white ground and the crunchy ice beneath my feet. The coldness had numbed every sense within me, and I prayed I could have the strength to run.

"Did you not hear me? I told you to leave. Leave, Christine." the anger caused words to flow more rapidly from his mouth. They stung.

I discovered a sense of strength as I merely rebelled. I disobeyed him; I did not allow him to control my movements. I remained immobile, even daring a step closer after several moments. I kept my gaze away from him, still remaining aware lest he strike. I do not know what compelled me, but I needed to know. I would get answers, if nothing else.

I approached the edge of the wall upon the roof, distant from him and yet close enough to where I could hear his rapid breath and my senses were heightened. Heart, pounding in my chest. I was not at arm's length; I dared not turn my head into the trap of his gaze.

As I stepped just behind him, I was suddenly aware of what he meant. The straps behind his head were not there. The mask was not upon his face. He was exposed to the cold as much as I, and so much more for this show of misery. I saw the back of his head, the thin construction of skin that lined his skull, the sparse amount of hair allowed to grow. Pity still existing where is oughtn't.

Yes, this broken and embittered creature had loved me. Now, I heard only hatred and malice, betrayal in his tone. He seemed to be submitting himself to what he was, a delusion shattered like the glass pieces of the very chandelier he had dropped from its place upon the ceiling. My trembling hand reached for the stone railing of the roof, my eyes toward the distant horizon and unwilling to meet the slightest glimpse of him. The silence dragged on, strangely peaceful. It did not pay mind to the tension crackling between the two occupants of the rooftop. It was simply devoid of sound, and therefore artificially contenting.

" _Why_ have you come?" the rasp cracked from his lips.

I tilted my head ever so slightly, just making out his outline as he quickly turned from my gaze and concealed the atrocity from my eyes.

"I'm not sure," I whispered, managing to retain even breaths. "I should not have."

"I had thought you gone. Off with the vicomte, wickedly betraying Erik. No doubt you will still go."

I did not confirm or deny his accusation, but I then knew that Erik had seen, and perhaps heard everything. Regret tinged with relentless determination that I had only been more than fair in my woeful tale of the opera ghost. I had been a traitor, I stabbed my maestro right in the back with every revealed detail, every breach of trust emitted from my lips to the all-too-eager ears of Raoul, my protector. Erik would never understand why I had done it. Perhaps I didn't myself.

"So, this is it then, Christine? I had thought you above him—but then, insolent girls always give everything up for _love_ , don't they?"

Every word was a bitter blow, a strike to the heart as he painted a picture of me I never wished to show, a role I never wanted of all I had ever been offered. He made me to be exactly what I should, and yet I had for so long resisted fighting Erik, given him a chance and tried desperately to see what lay behind the layers he fronted. In the end, I was as weak as any. Erik and I both knew it, in our own ways.

"It should not have been this way," I whispered mournfully, regretting showing such acquiescence to anything he would say so instantly. He still held a different sort of power over me.

He tried to manipulate, I knew inside that while unforgivable it was his only defense against very real pain. He, as Raoul said, painted me as the evil one, and yet why did I not disagree? Had Erik really poisoned my mind? Inconsistency in my beliefs teetered on the insane.

Erik seemed unsure of what I meant, but he did not speak for a long while, turning his back to me as he clenched his fists and resisted fleeing the sight of me. It would not have been any shock if he had.

"Perhaps it was always in the cards. I have come to expect too much from God and divine hope. I was deceived. Weak. _You_ poisoned my mind, and dangled that promise just out of reach! I could almost believe I would reach it. _Christine_...how could you be so cruel?"

" _How could I be so cruel_?" I reiterated, a cheerless laugh issuing from my own lips. "I did not kill a man! I did not lie to me, take the beloved illusion of a stupid, hopeless girl and twist it for my own gain! When I look in a mirror, I do not see the face of a ghost, one that controls and manipulates everything and everyone, because God forbid he does not have power over every good thing that there is!"

The anger was unparalleled; I had never so bitterly condemned anyone until this moment. I reached my hand automatically, moving toward my throat in awe at this power I did not know I possessed. Yet the fear chilled my bones the moment Erik whipped around, and I barely missed the view of his enraged, twisted features settling in upon my trembling form.

I could see the rasps of anger and rage issuing from Erik. I was afraid he may have another episode, where his rage turned to hysterical pain and he fell to the ground. I remembered that he was prone to such encounters, yet I was not afraid now, not when I could run from the roof and escape the nightmare of being left with a corpse.

I remained that way for several moments, eyes downcast, resigned to the fate that awaited me and yet for once, not regretting the words I said. I caught the sight of the flakes of snow settling upon the mounds of ice, and remarked upon such intricacies in their makeup as the fear settled within me.

"You denied me," he whispered, turning back around as a pent up breath dispelled from my lungs. "Every secret told deep within the dark...Erik for all he is...you placed him before your vicomte, shared with him every intimate detail. Do not deny that, for I heard every word, saw the disgust upon your shared expressions. Did he kiss your fears of this loathsome beast away from your mind well enough with his perfect lips? Tell me... did you cry yourself to sleep last night, thinking of Erik's wretched face, hating him, as the creature lie beneath it all and wept for you?"

The malice within those words brought back the guilt I felt, and I longed to tell him why. Yet I did not owe him the depths of my soul, when he offered no explanation or apology for the cruelty he had shown me.

" _I cried, yes_. I wept for an angel finally dead—for a man's life taken without a care—and for the all too real truth that the hand which took it was your own."

A sorrowful moan was heard as his lips parted, and I realized his entire form was trembling. The tables had turned, and now it was I that held the power over him. I found myself repairing the smallest of wounds within my aching soul by this one reassurance. Vindication.

"And does that satisfy you, _Christine_? Knowing once and for all that Erik was never anything but the monster he appears? That you could never have been his? That an ugly face does not conceal more than the truth?"

"No."

His silhouette turned slightly, I could just see the flash of surprise within one glowing eye, as I turned back toward the Paris beyond the opera. The world of freedom just before me.

"It cannot," I said in all honesty, a sorrowful smile forming on my lips. "I believed otherwise. I had thought you an angel, and I was wrong. I was willing to still hope...that the man behind the angel of music, and the phantom, was somehow _more._ It was naive, but I have always been weak," I said as the tears fell from my eyes, finally.

"I dared to think that the man that gave me this voice, that could sing like no other...that created such music for us both...had a heart just similar to mine." I sobbed, each tear as cold and glistening as the snow which whipped around us. "Because how could anything so beautiful come from something truly evil? How could a man that I regarded as...a friend…" I brought my hands up to my eyes, ashamed, as the tears came and would not stop.

 _Oh, Erik...why couldn't you have just stayed your hand? Why did I not reach out for you and show you that darkness never was an answer? Why did your life have to be so monumentally sorrowful to bring us both to this pain?_

The coldness and irresolute stance of his demeanor showed me all I needed to know. Moments went by without words, and they were not needed. My fear vanished, as I realized nothing was now salvageable. That point was passed. He could not hurt me any worse than he already had. The tears slowed, then stopped, only leaving their trails upon my sunken cheeks as the light within my eyes slowly faded. I stood as one infinitely trapped within sorrow, and turned from where I stood.

A gloved hand upon my shoulder stopped me. I turned my head just enough to see it rise, unclench, and then softly beckon me to turn around, shaking midair. It seemed a reaction of his that he would not help, a piece of sanity he grasped toward, a final attempt to make things as they were, a flickering reminder of what had been. But I knew that both Erik and Christine were already dead.

"Are your thoughts so convinced now, Christine?" I could see his hideous head shaking on his shoulders just out of clarity. "Here I am, somehow willing to fall prey to you again. I have never learned my lesson...you see, how you offer this one piece of forsaken hope, and Erik breaks," he sobbed, his hand slowly retracting toward his side. "If he had known…"

I smiled without any conviction. "If you had known, nothing would be changed. You would still be the same as you are now...the darkness only put off a little longer. I am not enough to end it."

How long would it have taken for it to overcome him once again? This was a truth, blinding in the way it hurt me deeply...and yet it was a closure enough to resign myself to the undeniable reality. Potential had existed, but it was always ill fated. Just as Erik had so assumed for those years, as he told me about his life, and I dared to pick up the lingering question he held onto, that maybe...something more was in store for Erik? That one small piece of hope laid in his future if he could only reach out further, set his sights closer, change for the better—

I was that hope, and I had just killed it.

Murdered as a man hanging from the rafters of the opera. Death brought on in unabashed fullness, as the dream finally died. I was no longer his ingénue, I was merely Christine Daae, a woman apart from a man I cared for, a voice of guidance in a disastrous world. I was alone now, vulnerable. I was no longer a child, I had been for far too long. Now guilt overcame me, and with it the release of emotions that surrounded such an ordeal.

I dared now to glance up, and saw his ugliness, the demented facets of his mind and soul combined. His eyes were averted, a darkness glinting within the faded lights. One that is now certain of what can never be. I wanted to look away, wondering how masochistic I must be! For as painful as it was to look upon death...it was overwhelmed by the sorrow of such a face and what my mind used to imagine laid just behind it, in a heart and soul gone by…

We were now on two very different paths, neither of which we had envisioned, and yet fated to be so all along. Raoul's carriage would be waiting within hours, and I would once again surrender my independence to the hopeful guidance of another. Betrayer, traitor, hopelessly naive and powerless to stop the effect of others on my life. Raoul, sweet and brave, the dearest of friends...such a ruse concocted to fall into the arms of another.

Erik had an entirely unclear path to pursue. I knew not if he was even aware of what it was, and what would be now. As I saw the growing rage upon his silent torment, I knew things would not end for the good. Silence before a storm. And my heart truly mourned as if for the death of my teacher.

I turned to leave, giving him one last look, and perhaps the finally bit of hope I could ever retain. I could not resist, no matter how much I wanted to! One last look, one more attempt lest I see the man I had seen only weeks ago, down beneath the opera, making the purist of music, the most tender of gestures…I searched for the Erik I had thought I knew, but I did not see him there.

Perhaps Erik was always a creation of my mind. Another facade he pulled up to hide his true face...and yet I found no blame in this toward him...it was entirely my own delusions. Hope could be a wretched thing. We both understood that.

I walked in the snow, trudging through that which had considerably deepened since I arrived. The sun shone just above the horizon, orange rays creating the sparkling beauty of the scene, and behind me illuminating the face of a man I would never forget. I wished to and yet I did not truly want to. Another form of self-torment that would follow me forever.

I whirled around once more, the silence tangible as I glimpsed him one more time, and his eyes bored into mine with no power or control...and it was the most intimately of Erik I had ever seen. Words lingered on my lips.

If this was closure, then why did it hurt so much?


End file.
